Dogstar's Shadow
by celtic-lyre
Summary: Something has broken into the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Ron struggles with his growing feelings for Hermione and a growing resentment of Harry. And above it all shines Sirius, the Dogstar, shadowing the events of the Sixth Year...
1. Prologue: Shadows

Love is the ghost haunting your head  
  
Love is the killer you thought  
  
Was your friend  
  
Love is the creature who lives  
  
In the dark  
  
Sneaks up, will stick you  
  
And painfully pick you apart  
  
-Concrete Blonde, "The Beast"  
  
***********************************************************  
  
It was past midnight in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Moonlight fell in patches across the ancient floor, glowing wanly like a growth of poisonous mushrooms. A pair of boots strode stealthily through the murky hallway; stirring dust into little eddies with each step. Aged portraits crusted with grime clung to the dark walls, their occupants staring with glittering eyes at the passing shadow. Down it went, descending the twisted staircase and into the kitchen, where the darkness was lessened somewhat by a sullen glow that seeped from under the crack of a dingy cupboard. The steps slowed, moving softly, carefully, as a faint muttering became audible.  
  
"They're gone, gone now, yes, but not for long, oh no, they'll soon be back, filthy mudbloods and traitorous meddlers, Kreacher knows, creeping and prying, staining the House with their tainted hands..."  
  
A hand reached out to touch the cupboard door. Gently as a breath of wind, it pushed the door slowly inward. A steady stream of pops and hisses sizzled from the boiler coiled in the center of the closet, its pipes warped like the limbs of a crouching beast. Ruddy light outlined the silhouette of an ancient house-elf, each of its muttered curses punctuated by a twitch of its ears.  
  
"But there's one gone already, and more to follow, oh yes, Kreacher made sure of that, the blood traitor had to go, oh my poor Mistress, to have such a son..."  
  
Spindly fingers shuffled through cracked frames, caressing black-and-white faces, long dead. The house-elf's voice lowered to an ugly hiss. "Kreacher fixed that, yes he did, he made certain that the Master would not soil the name of Black again, disgracing, dishonoring, defiling....." The shadow shifted in the doorway, slipping closer to the hunched figure. Light from the boiler flickered redly on the blade of a long knife.  
  
Kreacher turned as a draft of air stung his back. "Eh.?"  
  
The knife flashed once, twice. And abruptly, Kreacher's mutterings were silenced.  
  
***********  
  
Reddish light flickered through a dirty window, but no one could see it, and no one would have cared if they had. The shadowy figure turned back down the street, the end of its cloak gleaming wetly in the faint light of the street. Behind it, smoke rose from a chimney of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, ashes floating upwards towards the stars. 


	2. Engine Whistle

Steam gushed from the top of a scarlet engine, stirring the expectant occupants of Platform 9 ¾ into fits of coughing. Harry Potter fumbled his glasses off of his nose and hastily wiped them on his sweater, smearing the round lenses with impatient swipes. Having polished them to his satisfaction, Harry replaced them on his nose and squinted around the station expectantly. A small girl in the stiff robes of a Hogwarts first- year was whining in a high-pitched voice, clutching something that looked suspiciously like a skunk. ".but Mummy he wants to go, can I please, please, PLEASE bring him, I promise he'll be good and won't eat any of the sheets.."  
  
Her mother, who seemed a bit harassed, was ineffectually trying to disengage her daughter from her pet. "No Ivy, and I don't want to tell you again to LET-IT-GO."  
  
A group of boys about Harry's age were frantically comparing parchments, accompanied by cries of "Are you SURE he assigned us five rolls on the Pixie Plague of 1420? I thought it was three." and "But eye of newt goes in before the frog's toe, I'm SURE of it."  
  
Over in the corner three frumpy witches were tearfully hugging a couple of embarrassed-looking children, while a thin wizard with a bright tray around his neck sold sweets. Harry took a deep breath. After three months of long, sustained boredom at the Dursley's, it was good to be back in the magical world. Still, something was missing... A loud crash echoed behind him, followed by a muffled shrieking that slowly worked itself up into a crescendo. Harry turned to the source of the noise and almost had an eye knocked out as a ball of feathers whizzed past his ear. Hooting madly, the shape did an abrupt 360 turn and bobbed about Harry's head. Harry grinned as he surveyed the wreckage from which the fuzzy projectile had shot. Distinct shouting could now be heard, mingling with Pigwidgeon's frenzied hoots.  
  
"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, driving your cart into me like that?!"  
  
"Don't you take that tone with me Ron Weasely, if you hadn't swerved your cart in front of me-"  
  
"You STOPPED, what was I supposed to do, offer you a chair?!"  
  
Harry grinned as he surveyed the wreckage. Ronald Weasely's face was pale with anger, making his freckles stand out sharply against his nose. He towered over Hermione, his lanky frame shaking in frustration as he gesticulated wildly, arms waving like a windmill. Hermione, stretched until she wobbled on her tip-toes, still barely managed reach Ron's chest, which she was poking savagely with a finger. Her bushy hair stuck up at odd angles, and her chin sticking out pugnaciously as she tilted her face towards Ron, fixing him with a steady glare. The two stood amidst a mess of spilled luggage, their shouting having drawn onlookers from the crowd at the station. A trunk had tipped over, throwing a jumble of books onto the cobblestones.  
  
::That one must be Hermione's:: Harry thought. Pigwidgeon's cage lay on its side, the door swinging crazily, and two trolleys lay in a mangled heap, their wheels turning in the air. Abruptly the shouting stopped, as Ron and Hermione felt eyes upon them.  
  
Moving as one, the now silent pair turned, faces slowly flushing as they confronted the amused gazes of their fellow wizards. Ron fidgeted uncomfortably, his long arms now limp at his sides, the tips of his ears burning. Hermione, a spot of pink in each cheek, covered her embarrassment by running over to Harry.  
  
"Harry! It's so good to see you!"  
  
"It's great to see you too, Hermione," Harry grinned at Ron over the top of Hermione's head. "I take it the ride to the station didn't go well?"  
  
"Don't ask," Ron rolled his eyes. "How was your summer, mate?"  
  
Harry's grin faded. "The same as always."  
  
Hermione kicked Ron sharply on the shins.  
  
"Ow!" Ron's ears began to turn pink again. "Oh blimey, I'm sorry Harry. I forgot."  
  
"Forget it." Eager to change the subject, Harry lowered his voice. "What's the news from The Order?" During the summer Ron and Hermione, as well as Lupin and Mad-Eye, had done their best to keep Harry updated. However, their information had been sketchy at best, and Harry was eager for more accurate reports.  
  
Ron's face went a bit pale. "Not good. There was some trouble at Headquarters two nights ago."  
  
"Trouble? What happened?"  
  
Hermione answered, her eyes large and frightened-looking. "They don't know, exactly. Headquarters was empty - Ron's family were all at the Burrow, and the rest were watching you, Harry-"  
  
Harry flinched at that, but Hermione continued. "When Tonks and Professor Lupin came back in the morning, they - they found-" Hermione looked as if she was about to be sick.  
  
Ron finished hurriedly. "Well, you know those that row of house-elf heads in the entrance hallway? There's been a new addition."  
  
"Kreacher?"  
  
Ron and Hermione nodded.  
  
"Good."  
  
"Harry!" Hermione looked scandalized. "How can you say that?"  
  
"How can you still defend him - it?!" Harry demanded. "That *thing* betrayed Sirius!"  
  
"We know, Harry. I'm not saying what creature did was right. But he still didn't deserve to die that way..mounted on a wall like some disgusting trophy, it's positively inhumane."  
  
"It's still better than he deserved." Harry muttered.  
  
Hermione sighed, but didn't press the point. Ron cut in quickly.  
  
"No matter what he deserved, the Order's in an uproar. Mad-Eye's gone dotty, he's spelled and counter-spelled every inch of the house looking for spy magic. He's convinced that the only way to prevent every member from being cursed by Death-Eaters in their sleep is to relocate Headquarters altogether, but nobody else is too keen on that idea. After all, it was only a house-elf, and nothing's been disturbed or tapped, as far as they can tell."  
  
A sharp whistle sounded, signaling ten minutes until boarding time.  
  
Hermione scooped the last of her books into a trunk. "We'd better get going. We can talk about this more on the train."  
  
Harry nodded his head at Pigwidgeon, who was still fluttering about his head. "Do you need help getting Pig back in his cage?"  
  
"Nah."  
  
Ron fished around in a pocket of his well-worn robe and pulled out an Owl Treat. He waved it at Pigwidgeon, who seemed not to notice. "C'mon, Pig." Ron shook the toast. "Pig! PIG!"  
  
Finally, the little owl seemed to notice its name, and zipped towards Ron to investigate.  
  
"Practically have to beat him over the head with it to get him to notice." Ron caught the busily crunching bird and gently shut him in his cage. "Bloody owl," he said affectionately.  
  
Harry, watching Ron with his pet, suddenly realized something. "Hey, Hermione.where's Crookshanks?"  
  
Hermione's face fell. "He couldn't come."  
  
"Why?" Harry kept his voice concerned, trying hard to ignore Ron, who was busy pantomiming cheers behind Hermione's back.  
  
"It - it seems that I'm allergic to cat hair."  
  
Harry wasn't quite sure what to say to that. "Erm... gosh, I'm sorry Hermione."  
  
The whistle sounded on the train, breaking the awkward silence. Harry's grin returned. "C'mon, you guys. I'll race you to your seats!" 


	3. Playing the Hero

Ron gazed out the window of the Hogwarts Express, watching green hills, spotted with the occasional sheep, roll by. Only the occasional rustle broke the silence of the small compartment as Hermione, who was curled on the seat opposite Ron, turned a page of the book on her lap. Every time the train rumbled over an uneven bit of track, the compartment jounced slightly. And every time this happened, Hermione's knee would bump against Ron's. For some reason this made Ron very nervous. The most annoying part of it was that Hermione didn't seem to be bothered at all. She just sat there, reading and chewing absently on a curl that had fallen over her ear. The book, Ron sourly noted, was A History of Magic, Grade Six, which by rights shouldn't even be opened until several weeks into the term.  
  
Bump, went the train. Bump, went Ron's knee. How could she be so calm, when he felt like his lunch was making a break for freedom? He never recalled being so nervous on the train ride to Hogwarts. School wasn't that bad, even if it was the beginning of Sixth Year and the dreaded Newts courses. Then again, up until the last year they had always shared a compartment with Harry. With Harry, the ride to Hogwarts had been full of joking and Malfoy-baiting and chocolate frogs off the snack trolley. Not like this hot, uncomfortable silence. Apparently they were supposed to be "setting an example; we are Prefects, you know," as Hermione had admonished him earlier. Just because he'd been levitating her latest letter from Vicky out of the window did not make him "childish and a complete twit!" Some people just couldn't take a joke. She was lucky he hadn't burned it.  
  
Confound it; there went his stomach again. Maybe he was coming down with something? Luckily, the Express coasted over smoother ground, and with the loss of contact, Ron's stomach gradually settled back to normal. Hermione, her eyes never leaving the page, twisted a curl tighter around her finger, nibbling on the frazzled strand. Idly, Ron wondered when she had started that habit. He'd never noticed it before. The tracks went over a particularly large bump, banging their knees sharply together.  
  
"Ouch!"  
  
"Bugger!"  
  
"I'm sorry-"  
  
Both Ron and Hermione broke off at the same time, and began to laugh.  
  
"It's a bit crowded in here, isn't it?" Hermione giggled.  
  
"It wouldn't be if you hadn't dragged the entire year's reading list along for the ride," Ron retorted, rubbing his knee. He grinned lopsidedly at Hermione, letting her know that he was joking - sort of.  
  
Hermione sighed deeply. "Poor ickle Ronniekins," she said. "Did the nasty girl give him a boo-boo?"  
  
Ron glowered at her, his bottom lip stuck out in an outrageous pout.  
  
"Yeth," he lisped, sticking his thumb in his mouth.  
  
Hermione laughed out loud. "Where does it hurt?" she asked, her eyes wide with mock sympathy.  
  
Encouraged by her laughter, Ron continued with his baby act. "There!" he pouted, pointing to his injured knee. "It hurths!"  
  
Hermione's eyes danced with merriment. "Would like me to kiss it and make it better?" She suddenly stopped, realizing what she'd said. The compartment was silent as the two stared at each other.  
  
Ron took a breath. "---"  
  
"Trolley, dearies!" came a cheerful voice from the hallway.  
  
Ron jumped as the door of their compartment slid open and a short, sunny witch poked her head in.  
  
"I've got Pumpkin Pasties, Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans and the rest of the lot here."  
  
Hermione, her face very red, fumbled in her bag. "I'll take a bottle of pumpkin juice, please," she muttered.  
  
"And some for me, too," Ron added, grabbing the small stash of Galleons that Fred and George had presented him with before he'd left.  
  
"They're to keep up your strength," George had whispered with a wink. "Not that I'd ever insult our Mum's delectable home-made sandwiches, but you might starve to death on the train ride otherwise."  
  
Recalling the sandwiches, Ron also bought some Cauldron Cakes, Pumpkin Pasties, Chocolate Frogs, Licorice Wands, and two bags of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. By the time he sat back down, his face felt a normal temperature again, although perhaps all the blood was needed in his arms to support the load of sweets. Ripping open a Pasty with his teeth, Ron tossed a bag of Every Flavor Beans to Hermione with his free hand.  
  
"Thanks," she said quietly, still not meeting his eyes. The two munched in silence for awhile.  
  
Ron was confused. He was caught between intense relief and the irrational urge to zap the trolley lady with a silencing spell. Maybe a bit of fresh air would help him feel better. With this thought, Ron rose and turned to Hermione.  
  
"Hermione, you don't mind if I - " he broke off in mid-sentence. "What are you doing?"  
  
Hermione looked up from her tray, where had been carefully sorting Every Flavor Beans into little piles. "What?"  
  
"You - you're categorizing sweets!"  
  
"So?" she asked, looking sheepish. "I like knowing what I'm going to be eating next." Her chin began to protrude pugnaciously. "What's so strange about that?"  
  
"You can't just pick them out one by one!" Ron told her, looking shocked. "It's like life. You take what you get, no matter how awful it is! Otherwise they wouldn't be beans."  
  
"Well, life's never yet given me anything flavored with lint, and I'm not about to start taking it now." Hermione said firmly. "Did you want to ask me a question, or were you just commenting on my consumption of candy?"  
  
"Actually, I wanted to open a window. Do you mind?"  
  
"No, go ahead." Hermione carefully gathered her parchment rolls and secured them in her bag. "It is rather hot in here, isn't it?"  
  
Ron grunted as he struggled with the catch. It gave with a rusty squeak, letting a cool wind rush into the small compartment.  
  
"Ah, that's better," Ron grinned as air washed over his face.  
  
Just then there was a pounding on the door.  
  
Hermione slid it open to reveal Neville Longbottom, who was panting heavily and looking horrified. "Neville, what is it?" Hermione cried. "What's wrong?"  
  
"They- they told me to get all the Prefects," Neville gasped. "There's a fight going on."  
  
"Oh bother, term hasn't even started yet!" Hermione groaned, grabbing her wand from her satchel. "Couldn't they at least have waited until we got to Hogwarts?"  
  
She started out the door, then noticed that Ron was still in his seat.  
  
"Come on, Ron!"  
  
Ron leaned back in his seat. "Oh, sit back down Hermione," he said. "It's probably just a couple of first years having a scrap, the Head Boy's probably stopped it by now. Besides," he continued, smiling dreamily to himself, "Don't you remember the fights that we got into? I can still remember the time when Scabbers nearly chewed Goyle's hand off..."  
  
"No Ron, you don't understand," Neville insisted, his face pale.  
  
"Why?" Ron began to grow alarmed by the look on Neville's face. "Neville, what's going on?"  
  
"Well..." Neville swallowed. "It's Harry."  
  
"He wasn't using magic, was he?" Hermione demanded, speeding down the maze of compartments to the back of the train. "He knows he's not allowed, after the Ministry nearly expelled him last term! What was he thinking?!"  
  
"No," Neville croaked, struggling to keep up. "But it's bad all the same..."  
  
A crowd of students was gathered up ahead, from the center of which could be heard muffled thuds and incoherent shouting.  
  
Hermione pushed through the crowd, elbowing sides and stepping on feet when they wouldn't move. "Excuse me, Prefect coming through, step aside, out of the way, please, EXCUSE ME!"  
  
Ron strained to look over the heads, trying to see what was going on. The three finally pushed to the center of the crowd.  
  
"Oh dear," Hermione whispered.  
  
Harry, blood streaming freely from his nose, had pinned a struggling Malfoy down and was methodically beating his head against the floor. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan were grappling off to the side with Crabbe and Goyle, trying to keep them from aiding their leader.  
  
"Wow!" a voice squeaked excitedly. Ron looked down into the face of Colin Creevey, who was beaming excitedly at the brawl, as thrilled as if he were at a circus. "Didja see Harry go? Ooh!" he cried, as harry landed a small smack alongside Malfoy's jaw, "That must've hurt!"  
  
With a grunt, Goyle managed to fling off Seamus and ran forward, swinging a fist straight at Harry's jaw. There was a sickening crack as Harry flew off of Malfoy and landed a few feet to the side.  
  
"Oh no!" cried Hermione.  
  
Ron gave a shout of rage and rushed to join the fight, but was stopped by Hermione's small hand on his arm.  
  
"Ron Weasley, don't you DARE - "  
  
"Let go, Hermione!" Ron winced in sympathy as Crabbe head-butted Seamus. "C'mon, Harry needs help!" "Ron, you're a PREFECT, you can't - !"  
  
With a grunt, Ron shook off her hand and landed Goyle in a flying tackle. Throwing himself on top of the (much) larger boy, Ron began to enthusiastically punch the daylights out of him.  
  
"Ron, NO!"  
  
Meanwhile, Harry had struggled to his feet, and dove with a cry of rage on top of Malfoy, who was trying to crawl away.  
  
"Go, Harry, get him!" Colin shouted, jumping up and down.  
  
Harry's eyes were wild as he struck Malfoy, a stream of curses pouring from his mouth. "You utter, bleeding bastard!! Worthless, filthy, stupid -!!!"  
  
"Ron! Harry! Stop it!"  
  
There was a holler of triumph as Dean and Seamus succeeded in leveling Crabbe. Ron grunted as one of Goyle's fists caught him in the stomach. He fell to the floor with the breath knocked out of him.  
  
"RON!" Hermione screamed.  
  
Harry's voice continued relentlessly. "Slimy, crawling, bloody -!!"  
  
The shouting of the students was rising to a deafening roar. Ron couldn't hear anything as he rolled out of the way of Goyle's foot and spun to knee him in the side. He felt sparks fizzle in his blood as adrenalin rushed through him. Take that! And that! And -  
  
"What is the meaning of this?"  
  
A voice cut through the din of the hall. A woman stood in the doorway, silence spreading out around her like ripples in a pond. Pupils began to shift uncomfortably, and there were one or two sheepish coughs. Belatedly Ron realized that the situation didn't look too favorable. Goyle had yanked Ron's head back by his hair but had yet to do serious damage, as Ron had taken the opportunity to land several solid kicks in his stomach. Dean's eye was beginning to swell shut, and Seamus was swinging two feet off the floor with his arms wrapped in a stranglehold around Crabbe's neck. Perhaps the worst, though, was Harry. His nose still oozed a trickle of blood, and was quite obviously broken. He seemed not to have heard the woman's entrance, for he was still pummeling Malfoy with steady, methodical fists and showed no sign of stopping for anything. Malfoy looked in even worse shape than Harry. He had stopped struggling altogether, apparently deciding that his best defense lay in staying as still as possible. His eyes were glazed, and face was a mess of black and purple bruises. Meanwhile, the woman stood still, her arms folded as she watched the scene, making no move to interfere.  
  
"Harry!" Hermione whispered, her face white. "Harry, please stop!"  
  
Harry made no acknowledgement that he had heard her, never stopping his methodical strikes.  
  
The students had fallen silent, watching the two boys in horror. Frightened by the intensity of Harry's rage, Ron shook off Goyle's slack grip and ran to his friend.  
  
"Harry! Harry, mate, c'mon." Getting no response, Ron grabbed Harry's arms and pulled him bodily off of Malfoy. "Harry, leave OFF!" Harry struggled as Ron half-dragged, half-carried him away from the center of the circle. Harry's face was livid, each muscle tensed, his teeth bared in a snarl of incoherent rage. His eyes burned as they looked past Ron, seeking out Malfoy, who had crawled away, nursing his injured lip. He struggled against Ron's grip, determined to get back at Malfoy.  
  
"Harry! HARRY!" Ron took his friend by the shoulders, looking into his face, and, when that failed, began to shake him. "Harry, snap out of it!"  
  
Harry's jaw clenched, but gradually his face relaxed and his eyes began to focus on the face in front of him. With a short, jerky movement he stepped back from Ron, avoiding his eyes. Hermione, her face very pale, had stooped down to retrieve Harry's glasses, which had remarkably escaped the fight unscathed. She quietly held them out to Harry, who accepted them with a small, strained smile. Ron hesitantly reached out to put a hand on his friend's shoulder, and was relieved when Harry didn't pull away again.  
  
A cool voice made the three friends jump guiltily.  
  
"Explain."  
  
The woman had not moved since the fight stopped. Her arms were still folded around her grey robes, and her steady gaze made the boys squirm.  
  
"You." Her eyes fixed suddenly upon Harry. "Come here, please."  
  
Harry slowly approached her, using the sleeve of his robe to scrub at the blood below his nose, which had begun to dry in sticky trails. It didn't have much effect.  
  
The golden-eyed stranger waited until Harry stood in front of her before speaking.  
  
"What is your name?"  
  
"Harry Potter," he said, his face impassive. Inwardly he winced, fearing the reaction his name would cause, especially after all of the articles in the Daily Prophet last year. Even though the vicious editorials had stopped, Harry still felt the sting of being called "a disturbed and delusional egomaniac."  
  
The woman raised an eyebrow. "And, Mr. Potter, can you explain why you felt the need to engage in a brawl in the middle of the Hogwarts Express?"  
  
Harry muttered something.  
  
"I'm sorry?"  
  
Harry gazed steadily at the floor.  
  
The stranger's eyebrows arched higher. "Ah well, perhaps your friend can enlighten us."  
  
Ron looked panicked.  
  
"And what is your name?"  
  
"R-Ron Weasley."  
  
"Mr. Weasley, do you know why Mr. Potter was fighting?"  
  
Ron shook his head.  
  
"No?"  
  
The corridor was silent. The strange woman sighed. "Well, after all, it takes two to start a war." She turned to Malfoy, who, if looks could kill, would have murdered Harry in several inventive ways already, probably involving unusual and excruciating methods of torture.  
  
Malfoy, feeling her eyes upon him, spoke up before she asked. "My name is Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." He paused to let the significance of his surname sink in. The golden-eyed woman's expression was carefully blank. Malfoy felt the need to clarify. "Son of Lucius Malfoy?" Still getting no result, Malfoy finally abandoned that mode of attack and continued on. "Potter here- " he gestured to Harry with unmistakable loathing "-attacked me without provocation! I was simply walking through the corridor, when he -"  
  
The woman interrupted. "What was Mr. Potter's reason for attacking you, then?"  
  
Malfoy's face had gone a dark shade of red, contrasting with his white- blonde hair. "He's mentally unbalanced, that's why! Everyone knows that! Why, last year in the Daily Prophet there were articles every week about him and his...problems." The Slytherins in the crowd snickered maliciously. Encouraged, Malfoy continued. "Potter can't even walk down the hallway without having some kind of accident. He has fainting fits, and starts flopping about on the floor, whining about his scar."  
  
Ron placed a steadying hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry's face had gone pale, but he didn't move.  
  
Malfoy turned on Harry, his eyes glittering. "He's dangerous. He once set a hippogriff loose; he associates with werewolves, and giants and other half- breeds-"  
  
The stranger cut him off sharply. "That's enough, Mr. Malfoy."  
  
She turned again to Harry. "Mr. Potter, would you like to try one more time?"  
  
Any doubts he had previously held about confessing to this strange woman were swept away by Malfoy's accusations. Harry met the woman's eyes squarely, determined to prove the hundreds of reporters and gossip columnists wrong.  
  
"I didn't just attack him," Harry said. "Malfoy was picking on a first year. I made him stop."  
  
***Malfoy was holding a white mouse suspended high in the air above a sobbing little girl.  
  
"Eros!" the girl cried, reaching for her pet. "Put him down!"  
  
Malfoy smirked. "Oh, I don't know about that. He seems to like it up here."  
  
Eros squeaked pitifully, his tiny claws scrabbling at nothing.  
  
"Leave her alone, Malfoy."  
  
"Oh, it's you Potter. I might have known. Shall we see if mice can fly?" Malfoy shifted his grip on his wand, causing the mouse to wobble in the air. The little girl screamed.  
  
"Leave her ALONE!"  
  
Malfoy sneered. "I'd be careful if I were you, Potter. Somebody could get hurt"  
  
"I'm not afraid of you, Malfoy."  
  
Malfoy's voice was sweet, like the outer coating of Cockroach Clusters just before you bit down on something, something hard and crunchy that was most definitely NOT walnuts. "Oh, I wasn't worried about you. I was thinking of the girl." His eyes glittered maliciously. " Or don't you remember what happened the last time you tried to play the hero?" ***  
  
"It's true." A small girl with black pigtails moved to Harry's defense, cradling a white mouse protectively in both hands. "HE" - here she pointed with a withering look at Malfoy - "was hurting Eros. He throwing him up in the air with his wand!"  
  
Malfoy sneered. "I was just showing the little Mudbloo- excuse me, Muggle- born - a bit of magic."  
  
"Indeed." The woman's voice was cold. "Mr. Malfoy? I suppose I'll have to find a Prefect to administer proper disciplinary measures." Her eyes flickered to the silver badge winking on Malfoy's lapel. Her eyes widened in feigned shock. "Why, what luck! It seems that you are a Prefect!"  
  
"Tell me," the woman continued, her eyes boring into Malfoy's, "What is the punishment for practicing magic on the train?"  
  
Malfoy's face had gone a nasty shade of red. "I don't have to listen to this!" he snarled. "Potter attacked me!" he spat, gesturing at the bruises on his face. "Who are you anyway to talk to me like that?!"  
  
The stranger smiled. "I assure you," she said quietly, "That I am someone."  
  
She stepped back, looking brightly at the assembled students. Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff sixth year, coughed and stepped forward. "Excuse me, miss, but do you want me to get the Head Boy?"  
  
The woman was silent for a moment, her eyes sweeping the culprits. "No," she said at last. "No, I don't think that will be necessary."  
  
Ernie looked shocked. "But Miss, they really ought to be told-"  
  
The stranger smiled at him. "Thank you for your concern. I appreciate your informing me."  
  
"Nevertheless," she continued, "It appears to me that you have all already received your dues from this fight." Her gaze lingered on the many cuts and bruises that marked the boys' faces. "I suggest that you all pay a visit to the infirmary car. Separately."  
  
Seamus and Dean mumbled "Yes, miss," and quickly withdrew.  
  
The rest of the students, seeing that the show was over, began to slowly drift back to their compartments.  
  
Malfoy, his face livid with rage, began to stalk out of the compartment.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy," the woman called him back. "I trust that you will be to tired after this disturbance to leave your compartment for the rest of the trip," she said pointedly. "I do not wish to have to take more serious measures."  
  
Malfy shot her a poisonous glare, but retreated without comment, knowing he was lucky for getting off so easily, but furious that Potter had, too.  
  
Ron shifted nervously, uncomfortable with the strange woman. Hermione hovered just inside the doorway, her eyes large and worried. Harry stood silently next to Ron, a clot of blood flaking on his cheek. The woman's gaze was unreadable as she regarded the two boys. "Mr. Potter, I commend you," she said finally. "Your retribution was a bit excessive, but your intent was noble." She sighed a small sigh, and suddenly looked very tired. With a start, Ron realized that this woman was small - barely Harry's height. "However, I feel I must warn you," she continued. "People seldom take the time to inquire about intentions. It is actions they judge, and actions alone, no matter how good or noble the intent."  
  
Harry met her eyes steadily, and slowly nodded. The woman brushed a hand across her forehead, then gestured to the blood on Harry's face.  
  
"You had better go clean that up," she said. "We'll be arriving soon." With that, she turned and quietly left the hall.  
  
Wordlessly, Ron put an arm about Harry's shoulder. Hermione joined them, wriggling in between the two and wrapping an arm about each of them. Together, the three friends walked out of the hallway towards the front of the train. 


End file.
